Depraved
by JackSparrowsBooty
Summary: Jesse and a friend are kidnapped during a trip to Tijuana by a notorious gang. Can Mark and Steve save him in time? Rated T for violence.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: It's been a while since I have bothered to skim through the fics I have written for this show. I'm sorry about any of the unended stories that I started. I'll definitely try to add to them. I think all I need to do is restructure them and make an outline of what I want to do with the plot. Anyway, the character, Dezi, is an original, but before you run, don't worry. She'll be gone as soon as the next chapter. And it won't be very pretty.

**Depraved**

**~*~**

Lieutenant Steve Sloan had been shocked when his friend Dr. Jesse Travis called from the Tijuana International Airport, and even more so when the youthful physician stated that a friend was flying out with him. Steve knew that Jesse was well-liked by the hospital staff, but he could not remember the last time Jesse surrounded himself with anybody but the usual, himself, his father and Jesse's mentor Dr. Mark Sloan, and Dr. Amanda Bentley. When his young friend admitted that it was a woman, the surprise lessened significantly, because he'd wanted to get away for the two week stretch of paid leave coming up. Jesse had sheepishly confessed that the female attending his little retreat was the same one he'd been pursuing for the past six weeks and Steve had chuckled mirthlessly at that into his cell phone.

The young woman was new to the hospital, one of the more recent hires brought to the in-patient admit desk in the front of the ER at Community General Hospital. Her first day the two had locked eyes, Steve had witnessed this himself, and he honestly couldn't blame his friend for pining after the girl. She was a pretty thing with long blond hair, dark blue eyes and an impressive smile. They seemed to hit it off easily and Steve had noticed with derision before that Jesse had such an effect on women on a regular basis.

The young woman, Dezi James, seemed to be harder to crack than Jesse had hoped; it took him several meetings of him leaning over the desk at her for Dezi to agree to a date. Steve couldn't help but wonder what Jesse had to do in order for her to say yes to a two week vacation with him.

"Tijuana, huh?" Steve said, smirking at the ceiling of his office. "What on earth possessed you to choose that place?" His mind instantly went to the infamous stories that trickled from the city out of Baja California, like perverse sex acts, drunken criminal offenses, and dangerous legal institutions.

"Change of scenery," Jesse remarked simply and Steve could hear the grin on his friend's face. "I didn't really feel like taking my chances with Carmel again, you know what I mean?" The wry humor sounded momentarily clipped with regret, and Steve was brought back to a time when his friend's romantic life included one woman only, Susan. She'd been his longest relationship to date and since their parting, he'd been quite the serial dater with no desire for commitment. Steve hoped that Dezi wouldn't end up being just another failed attempt, but the one who'd be able to hold onto his close friend.

"How's your guest?" Steve wondered as he picked up a pen from his desk and began fidgeting with it out of boredom.

Jesse's voice brightened considerably. "Oh, she's great. She and I spent most of last night walking the beach, drinking mojitos, and dancing."

"Most of the night? I won't even ask how you spent the rest of it," Steve answered dryly.

Jesse chuckled. "I'll let you use your imagination."

"Mm. No thanks, Jess'." Steve clicked the end of his pen and sat up in his chair, clearing his throat. "Well, I've got to get back to my paperwork. You know people in the real world have jobs to do." He paused, waiting for Jesse's good-natured snicker. "Have a good time."

"Thanks," the young doctor replied, sounding distracted. "I'll talk to you later, maybe tomorrow."

"All right. Bye."

Jesse hung up his cell phone with a quick jab at the touch screen of his iPhone just as his female companion wandered into the main room of the hotel that they were staying at. She had a small smile that made him wonder if she was feeling a bit self-conscious since last night. He grinned back, hoping she wasn't regretting their little tryst, because he'd gotten a good feeling about her the instant he laid eyes on her. This of course was something he'd felt often about women around the hospital, but Dezi was obviously different. Naturally, she was a beautiful person, if a little too tall for his taste, but she had a truly sweet disposition and shyness seemed to be his undoing when it came to women.

"Hey there," he said, feeling his stomach tighten at her chosen outfit. She looked fantastic in her black and bright purple wet suit, and he couldn't help but wish she'd been wearing nothing at all. "You look great."

"This old thing?" She laughed and shook her head. "Are we still going surfing?" she asked, pulling her light blond hair into a ponytail.

"You bet," Jesse responded, and stood, toeing his boarding shoes on as quickly as possible. He'd been elated to find out that Dezi was a surfer girl herself, even though she'd been raised to ride the waves off of the Oregon coasts, which were rumored to be much colder, rougher, and rockier. The two grabbed their bags and their respective surfboards, then headed out the door, eagerly discussing the day ahead of them. Interested hotel staff watched curiously as the two boarded the elevator at the end of the hallway, observing the easy flirtation between them until the doors came to a gentle close.

As Jesse and Dezi left the hotel, they were pleasantly surprised by the generosity of the hotel staff. Two men in particular had been especially helpful with carrying their bags containing the changes of clothes and hauling the surfboards to their rental car. When Jesse had stated in Spanish that the kindness was appreciated by not necessary, the older gentleman waved it off, insisting that he must make his guests feel completely at ease. Jesse was quite impressed, even if the man's large grin appeared almost reptilian, making him feel slightly nervous. Dezi had recognized the hitch in Jesse's smile, and had brushed an elbow into his ribs to remind him that the man was being nice. He recovered quickly by handing the two men each twenty dollars of US currency and nodding his head once to show his gratitude.

**~*~**

Fortunately for the pair, the Pacific Ocean off of the long peninsula was not only churning with large waves, but the time of year, which happened to be late summer, was warm enough for the normally ice cold water to feel good. When Jesse jogged out of the surf and back onto the beach littered with tourists, the heat seeped into his wet suit, warming his body almost instantly. Jesse knelt down onto the powdery sand where their supplies lie in wait and dropped his surfboard next to the brightly colored towels.

Jesse felt his stomach drop when he noticed that his backpack had been rummaged through, as its contents had been dumped out onto his towel, his wallet open and his ID smiling up at him. He looked around for Dezi who had claimed she would watch their things as he caught a wave or two, but she was no where in sight. He frantically picked up his wallet and thumbed through his identification, bank cards and credit cards. Surprisingly, he realized that nothing had actually been removed, not even the wad of twenties he'd left inside the pouch. Just as he had shoved the remainder of his possessions into the backpack, Dezi returned from wherever she had been. He frowned at her, but she looked baffled at his aggravated expression.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

He bit his top lip. "Where'd you go?"

"Bathroom. I was only gone for two minutes." She directed her hand to her right, where a cement-bricked building was, clearly visible.

"Oh," he said, and then sorted through his things once again to make sure nothing was missing. "Did you dump my stuff out?"

She sat down, then looked at him uncertainly. "No."

"I think somebody went through our stuff. You might want to check yours as well."

Dezi's eyes widened in shock, then directed her attention to her bag, but came away relieved. "Nothing's missing. I guess whoever was trying to steal our things must have gotten spooked."

Jesse nodded, glancing around. Suddenly a thought struck him, and he ripped open the front pouch where he'd stored his cell phone. His hand fumbled through an empty space. It was gone. "Great."

"What?" she asked immediately concerned.

"My phone is gone," he answered, palming his face. "It has all my information in it. All my numbers."

Dezi searched her items once again, and found that her cell phone was gone as well. "Oh my God, Jesse, mine is too." Her face held a tint of fear as she stared at him in shock. "What are we going to do? We have no way of calling anyone!"

"I don't know. I doubt the Tijuana authorities will be that interested in stolen phones." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, which was beginning to dry. "You want to ask around? I'm sure there's some sort of authority around here that we could file a report with."

After speaking with several people milling about near to where they had set their bags, they had come up with very little information. The two finally resorted to talking to the beach patrol officer who was busily writing tickets at the boardwalk. The man spoke pretty good English, and took the report of the stolen phones with the promise that he'd try to locate the missing items as soon as possible. Then Jesse and Dezi returned to the hotel, where they were approached by the same two hotel staff members, who were more than eager to, once again, carry their bags and surfboards to their room. Jesse gave them a nice tip as he did last time, but his concern was still on their stolen phones, and why the thief had chosen to take them instead of the wallet, money or IDs. It didn't make much sense.

As they unlocked their hotel door, Jesse noticed immediately that something was off. His intuition was sparking inside of his abdomen, telling him that something had occurred in their room, and their two-week trip was about to be interrupted by something awful. Sure enough, as the door swung open his eyes fell on the room they had inhabited only a few hours prior, which had undergone a ransacking. He felt his shoulders sag, deflated, as he picked up their items from the floor and shoved them back into the opened luggage cases. Dezi grimaced as she grabbed handfuls of her makeup and delicately placed them back into a small purse

"Our passports are gone," Jesse stated, pushing his fingers around the front pocket of the bag he'd been cramming unfolded clothing back into.

Dezi stopped what she was doing and slowly fell into the wooden chair at the small dining table. "How are we going to get back into the United States?" She looked as if she was close to crying and Jesse felt a stab of panic seize him at the sight. He was never very good about female hysterics, always ended up saying the worst possible thing at the worst moment. Didn't help that he was feeling a bit panicky himself. "I've seen horror stories of this exact same scenario on TV, where someone leaves the country, gets their IDs stolen and then are barred from reentering the States."

Jesse stood up from the side of the bed he sat on and knelt down beside her, taking one of her slender hands. "Hey," he said, offering an uncertain grin. "Let's talk to the police around here, ask the staff if they remember anything. We still have our wallets, so they know we're from California. Everything will be fine." He pulled her into an embrace, but could not help but feel more unsure about their near future.

**~*~**

Hours later, the couple was returning from a long, agonizing time hurrying up and waiting at the United States Embassy in downtown Tijuana to make sure that they wouldn't be barred from reentering America without their passports. It turned out that Jesse and Dezi would likely have absolutely no difficulty returning as long as they had their legal identification and the young doctor had sent out several silent thanks to whoever was listening that the IDs had not been stolen.

Afterward, the two had gone straight to the local police station. The trip was a disturbing reminder of what life was like south of the border. Jesse was an emergency room doctor, so he saw his fair share of the depraved and hopeless, but in Mexico, the lawlessness was escalated immensely. The conditions were a testament to the current issues affecting the country, a place rife with gang violence, kidnappings, drugs, and all other kinds of corruption. He and Dezi filed a police report for their missing passports, but they did not stay as long as they should have.

The hotel staff watched them closely as they entered, and Jesse could not help but feel self-conscious at their unusual interest in them. The two men who seemed so generous earlier studied them the most, whispering to one another quietly in Spanish. The conversation was too soft, so he couldn't make out what they were talking about, except for the mention of "_El Americano_."

They weren't the only Americans vacationing in the hotel, just seemingly the most visible apparently.

Jesse didn't have to ask Dezi twice if they should spend the rest of their trip at home. "We could visit with Mark," he mentioned as they dragged their luggage behind them. She winced, unsure.

"I don't know, Jesse," she said. "He doesn't really know me that well. Won't it be a little awkward?"

Jesse was animated with an answer. "Oh, no! Mark would welcome you in with open arms. He's the kindest person you'll ever meet."

"Okay." They shared a smile and approached an elevator. An attendant quickly pressed the 'down' button. "_Gracias_," Jesse said, casting a genuine grin in the man's direction. The attendant nodded once. Upon exiting, the two were met with more abundant consideration by the hotel personnel.

His car zoomed up from the parking lot a little quicker than he would have liked, but it was in exactly the same shape as he saw it last, and this made him feel less anxious. The familiar faces were at their backs when their luggage needed placing into the trunk and the men eagerly pitched in, hauling up their bags with ease.

Before Jesse had a chance to tip them for their service, the doctor heard a click and suddenly his body froze. He knew that sound. He wasn't all that shocked to feel the cool, metallic end of a gun at his temple.

* * *

A/N: Please let me know if this is good!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I know that it has been a while since I updated. I'm very sorry! Distraction, she's a biotch, right? Anyway, I'd love to hear what people have to say, especially the good!

**Depraved**

**~*~**

Jesse didn't even have the proper amount of reaction time before an unmarked, '70's model Chevy van rambled up and stopped in the parking lot next to them. Dezi made a tiny whimpering noise to his right as she realized that their situation was fairly dire. He knew that this wasn't just a standard armed robbery, if that were at all feasible. These two men were planning to kidnap them.

The sliding door opened and three men emerged from the confines of the vehicle, without any kind of masks on or items to hide their identities. This made Jesse's heart drop, because he knew that criminals who didn't intend to mask themselves were not worried about being recognized by a victim. Their clothes were probably three sizes too large for their wiry, muscular statures; the usual attire conducive to members of a gang. When the three tread closer, Jesse was able to see tattoos littering their cinnamon skin.

The two seemingly thoughtful men who had seemed so gracious earlier now stepped aside for the approaching young men with fierce expressions and the doctor was all of a sudden aware of the fact that they were set up by the hotel attendants. They were profiting off of him and Dezi because they were apparently assumed to be wealthy or recognized at either a local or national level.

Jesse turned slightly and raised his hands to show them he was not a threat so he could reason with the men and insist that they were not at all rich or famous, but one of the armed gang bangers quickly drew his hand up and thrust the butt of his weapon into the side of the young doctor's head.

Jesse felt the crack against his skull like a knife penetrating his brain and emitting a lightning bolt of pain in all directions. Stars burst into his vision and he sagged forward against the trunk of the rental car as the world darkened around him. Dezi shrieked, a noise that sounded more like desperate, hysterical sobbing, but to his ears it sounded far-off and vacant. He could feel himself fading out and his knees buckling, but he was forced from a complete stupor when his right wrist was caught, whipped behind his back and ensnared into a metal cuff. He fought to stay focused, only managing to open his eyes to slits, but he was still able to make out the faces of his captors. One man in particular was decorated with a number of blue tear drops and elaborate lettering; he shouted to his comrades, then forced a cloth sack over Jesse's head, and proceeded to shuffle him and Dezi to the van.

Jesse stumbled clumsily quite a few times, earning some pretty gratuitous kicks to the back of his knee and ribcage. Finally, the pair climbed aboard, and they were shut off from the world with a swift slam of the van's sliding door. Jesse lay there on the floor of the vehicle for some time, breathing heavily, his head, knee and side throbbing with every rapid heartbeat. He could make out a familiar scent within the stifling isolation of the sack – the rusty, iron smell of blood. His hair and neck were beginning to dampen, and the sticky wetness was smearing with any movement he made.

He felt his right arm being tugged in the opposite direction, and it took him several moments to understand that he had only been cuffed on one arm, and that the person pulling at him wasn't one of the captors, but rather Dezi who had apparently been shackled with the other cuff. This comforted him, and he felt relieved that they intended to keep them together. At least neither of them was being forced to endure any of this alone.

"Jesse?" she whispered in a trembling voice.

His reaction was slower than usual, and he blamed it on the rapidly growing lump on his head. He knew, as a doctor, that he was probably concussed. "Hm?" he grunted back, and then grimaced when they were jostled by the rough terrain that the van was driving over.

She shuddered noticeably, as he felt it in the way her hand shook violently. "Are you okay?"

_Fantastic_, he wanted to quip in snappish derision. Instead, knowing that a snarky response would be unusually cruel and revolting in such a situation, he muttered a "fine" to appease her, even if he knew he wasn't.

"Are you sure?" she quivered, letting small hitches escape in her erratic breathing. He couldn't help but think to himself that if she kept that up she'd end up hyperventilating.

He felt guilty not being completely honest with the girl, and knew that she may end up a necessary element to his survival if he was indeed suffering from a head injury. "No, I'm not really sure. I think I may have a mild concussion." She gasped in response, which was followed quickly by soft weeping. "It's okay, Dezi," he mumbled, and even though the black cloth shrouding his vision kept the small space from dancing, vertigo was creating a nauseating dizziness. Panic rose into his throat and the hair on the back of his neck stood up with the realization that he would vomit soon if the sensation did not cease.

Jesse rolled to his right and pushed himself to a kneeling position, but a shouting noise erupted, reverberating off of the metal walls of the vehicle and penetrating his skull with a fierce intensity. The young man's voice was only about a foot away, shouting in Spanish – 'Sit down!'

"Please," he begged, feeling his body become enveloped in a cold sweat. A boot shoveled his body back to the surface of the floor and halfway on top of Dezi. He fumbled, apologized, and resumed his previous position, fighting with the urge to get sick.

'Shut up!' was his response, and Jesse knew that testing them was an unwise decision. On the other hand, how was he going to know if by complying with the captors' commands, he wasn't leading the two of them into an inevitable death anyway? Would it be worth trying, even if it meant getting killed in the course of action?

Jesse almost considered going for it when the van came to a stop, but he figured the success of the idea was unlikely, since they weren't even in the United States, he was hurt, and both of them were handcuffed together. Not to mention the gang members were all armed to the teeth and had more to their number. He also did not want to put Dezi's life at risk. He wasn't sure if he'd be capable of forgiving himself if she died in the process.

"Keep talking to me, Dezi," he said faintly, turning toward her with caution.

**~*~**

Steve was at home that same day, spending an unusually quiet Saturday afternoon with his father, who for once had a moment to relax from the demands of his career. Mark Sloan was probably one of the busiest, well-known and most admired doctors on the West Coast, so that rarely left father and son much time to spend with one another.

With the collective demands of being in their lines of business, the two were less like family and more like two ships passing one another by night. Mark spent a ridiculous amount of time at Community General, whereas Steve found himself practically wearing a hole into the cot in the bunking area of his precinct house when obsessing over a case kept him from desiring to leave. This was even more of a truth lately, because homicide seemed to be breaking out more often in their area.

Today, though, was Steve's relaxing day, thanks to the previous evening's final closing of a double homicide – he'd been hounded by Captain Newman, the press, and the local community leaders to solve it as soon as possible, which had proven to be more than difficult. A mother and child dead with miniscule evidence was what he'd faced, and only their forensics team had been able to pinpoint the guilt to their suspect, the same one Steve's gut had been screaming at for weeks – all the stress and anxiety had seeped from his body and he realized he'd not rested well since the case had begun. Last night was the first dreamless sleep he'd had in a long time. Mark hadn't involved himself as he usually did except for trying desperately to keep the young mother alive weeks ago when she'd arrived at the hospital, to no avail.

The emergency room had experienced a rise in emergency traumas and the lack of a certain extra set of doctor hands had set the hospital back. Today was Mark's scheduled day off and thankfully despite his on-call status his phone had been surprisingly silent. He was sipping at a hot cup of green tea and leaning over his eyeglasses at the day's newspaper when Steve entered the room and sat down with a sigh. Mark didn't seem to notice his presence, and even waited several seconds before speaking.

"You speak to Jesse yet?" Mark asked in an even tone. His son shook his head, knowing the older man saw it even if he barely moved an eyelash. "Make sure when he calls to know his presence, or lack thereof, has been felt and he may feel free to come back now."

Steve grinned, amused. "Sounded like he was enjoying himself too much to want to come back."

"Well, I hope he's enjoying the beaches and not running into the bad part of Tijuana. I hear it's particularly brutal, especially with the issues going on down there with the drug cartels and gangs."

A wave of discomfort washed over Steve when his dad mentioned the negative part of the Mexican city. He did not need to be reminded how dangerous the place had become in the past few years with stories of shootings, decapitations, smuggling, kidnappings, and such. The only reason Jesse had chosen the location was because of the surf and sun. Steve cleared his throat, feeling the clock winding away. He'd admittedly been keeping an eye on it to see if Jesse would let him know if he was doing well. He'd been feeling a bit like an overprotective older brother ever since the madness near Carmel and Jesse's unintentional excursion to Utah.

"Eh, I'll give him a few more hours before calling. I'd hate to interrupt his time alone with Dezi."

"Dezi is such a nice young woman. And her dad is an incredibly influential leader around here. Did you know he helped organize some of the best collections of food drives we've seen in a long time? It was a great thing to be a part of. Over one thousand different families were given food in the area due to the drive."

Steve smirked and felt like the skin on his face was stretched across a dry canvas. He sipped at his coffee, feeling the apprehension begin to cloud his concentration.

**~*~**

Jesse fought with sleep for well over an hour before the van stopped. He knew that staying awake was important, but it was difficult for him to keep his eyes from drifting shut, and after such a long time with struggling through consciousness the paramount significance waned until he was unable to remember why. The ache in his head, the stifling heaviness of the sack over his face, and the sometimes abrupt jolting of the vehicle couldn't even keep him from being lulled into blessed slumber.

He felt quite dazed by the time the door opened and dry, scorching air seeped into the tight, enclosed space. The van moved briefly as the inhabitants hopped out, then Jesse felt a rough grappling with his shirt as the young men pulled him upright and outside. Dezi was dragged like a sack of potatoes involuntarily shackled to his wrist; her body was like a deadweight and the steel cuff bit into the soft tissue of his hand. Despite the unceremonious removal, she was able to find her feet without stumbling.

Everything in Jesse's body desired to run, because he did not know what to expect. From what he understood, surviving a ransom demand was unfortunately slim, especially when it involved gang members.

Two voices sounded close by in low Spanish. He was able to quickly understand the basic words, although some of the slang was difficult to decipher. He'd been taught the Spanish more beneficial to Spain, with its proper grammar and speaking etiquette. He had picked up some slang from Mexican Americans at the hospital, but this was entirely different.

Jesse listened intently to the conversation. From what he could hear, they spoke of a house, money, and spilling blood. He felt his body turn to ice. Before he could react, though, the two were shoved in an unknown direction. He had no eyes to work for him, so the young doctor concentrated on the terrain under his shoes, and the noises of the area. He could tell they were in an isolated region, because he did not hear the sounds typical to vehicles. He heard in the distance the sound of a dog barking, then metal scraping metal. Like a gate opening.

They were led further down a flat path until his feet met with a declining staircase. He stepped cautiously to the bottom, where the air was rancid with the smell of cat urine, marijuana smoke and decomposing flesh. The nausea crept into his stomach with angrier force and Jesse coughed, fighting through the sickness. The two were pushed into a darker room – he could tell by the change in light – and the handcuffs were released from their wrists. A quick swipe removed the sack, but the blunt end of a gun pressed into Jesse's head.

'Down!' a voice shouted, and the doctor complied. The man turned toward somebody else in the room. 'Get the girl.'

Dezi renewed her earlier hysterics. "Jesse!" She struggled feebly, and he turned to glance back at her thrashing form.

"No! Come on, guys. _Por favor_," he muttered, rising to his knees. The hard, obsidian eyes narrowed and one of the young men brought his weapon back down to Jesse's temple.

A split second of slicing pain erupted in his already aching skull.

Although, this time he was out entirely. His body slumped lifelessly to the dusty ground and the girl, crying and flailing, was hauled away after the young doctor was closed and locked in.

**~*~**

A/N: Let me know how you like it! Thanks for the reviews. :)


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Please bear with me on this one. I have the entire story mapped out, as with many others, but at the beginning of March, I was struck with an onslaught of about 10 times more things to do during the week. Surprisingly, this has jumpstarted my creativity -- don't ask me why, lol -- because I've started numerous other projects, including original works. I hope everyone likes this new addition. I hope it is up to par with a lot of the great authors who write for this fandom!

**Depraved**

**~*~**

The little café that Steve walked up to was new to the neighborhood, and naturally, since his father was known for his indomitable curiosity, Mark had been interested in it from its beginnings. For about three or four months, he had apparently declared the hole in the wall haven the best place to lunch when the group had time off for one another. Of course, today, it was sans Jesse. The owner had purchased an old antique shop that had gone bankrupt and had overhauled the entire stuffy ambience of the place, stripping the walls down to the brick underlay and had added a cozy looking loft, transforming the entire place to his liking. Mark had liked the place immediately due to the rustic appeal, but Steve was harder to please, finding that it smelled a bit like a combination of incense, coffee beans, and sand, and the owner was slightly more eccentric than his liking, even with some of the characters he ran into on a daily basis. However, the flat screen TV set into the wall upstairs was usually tuned into the news, or even on a sports channel, so this made the café easier to enjoy. Not to mention the guy behind the counter seemed to know his way around a coffee maker.

Steve glanced up at the sign above the front entrance and felt it again—the creeping sensation that told him something was wrong—and wondered who or what this was directed to. He contemplated thoughtfully if the retro, antique-looking thing would eventually fall off of its wire hinges, as it swayed and creaked with the light coastal wind and strike him as he walked into the shop. He ducked under the door jamb warily and inside the dark shop, instantly noticing his dad and Amanda a few feet away at a small, private table close to the wall. The two greeted him with a smile and a wave. He grinned back and approached the sales counter, not even bothering to examine the contents inside the glass case, or the blackboard with the chalk-written menu.

The man, Henry was his name, peeked out from his thick-rimmed readers. "Lieutenant Sloan, nice to see you again."

"How are you doing, Henry?"

"I'm doing well. Will it be the usual for you?" he asked. Henry had only been in the neighborhood for a short while, but had shown a penchant for remembering his regulars, and the Sloan's had already been there often enough to allow the owner this amount of familiarity.

"Yes, thank you."

"No problem."

Steve placed a few dollar bills on the counter and moved over to the table where his father and good friend sat chatting cheerily over their orders, Amanda with a light stack of files. She leaned back in her chair, stretching her lean frame, much like a house cat would. "Hi, Steve."

The man took a seat, feeling too big and out of place in the little, rickety wooden chair that looked as though it had been picked up from a recycling yard. "Hey, Amanda, Dad." Steve glanced up at the door just as someone walked in and his gut flipped, as if he expected the next person to barge in wielding a gun and demanding money. Instead, it was a thirty-something female jogger, the stereotypical soccer mom type, complete with her exercise clothes, baseball cap, ponytail, iPod, and jogging stroller. Their eyes met briefly before she moved past to purchase her drink.

Steve cursed inwardly. What was with him today? He figured it as his nerves. He'd had a lot on his mind lately.

Mark lifted a little cup of coffee, likely a cappuccino with loads of foam on top, and sipped away, then wiped at the white mustache with a napkin. The brown froth did not come off entirely, but he did not seem to realize it or care.

"Uh, Dad," Steve began, but Mark cut him off.

"Have you heard from Jesse yet?" the older Sloan queried, blue eyes wide and questioning.

Steve felt that same flip in his stomach. No, he had not. It had been over a day since Jesse had last spoken to him, and still no word. Steve could only admit to himself that he had left at least half a dozen voicemails and text messages for his vacationing friend. At first, irritation had surfaced, as this emotion was the one he typically turned to in situations like these, but the feeling had not consumed him entirely, because he could not get that nagging sixth sense to stop making him swear that something was amiss.

"No, not yet," he stated, picking up one of the napkins and crumpling it in frustration.

Mark peered up from his mug, his dramatic eyebrows climbing. "You mean, you haven't heard anything?"

Amanda curled a perfectly styled lock of her dark brown hair behind her ear. "How long has it been since you've heard from him again?"

Steve sighed. "It was over twenty-four hours ago."

She let her mouth drop open, concern enshrouding her delicate features. "Steve, I don't like this." Amanda shook her head. "Remember when—"

"Yes, I remember that," he interrupted, not feeling up to being reminded of Jesse's abduction and subsequent paranoia. "I've been getting a strange feeling about this whole ordeal."

"What do you mean?"

Steve chose his words carefully, biting back what he truly wanted to say for fear of sending the two into a worried frenzy. "Just that something's not right. I don't know. It's probably that Jesse is just trying to get as much privacy as possible."

Mark dabbed at his mustache, finally wiping away the cappuccino left from his drink. "Is Jesse's phone turned off completely? Or is he just letting it ring?"

"It's off entirely, Dad. And it has _been _off since I have attempted to contact him, which is pretty much all day."

"Well, what about Dezi? Have you tried her cell phone?" Amanda asked.

Steve nodded, fidgeting with the scrap of paper in his hand. "Tried that already. I called her father and got her number. Her phone is off as well. Tried at least twenty different hotels in the Tijuana area, but only about half of them spoke English, and none of them had Jesse and Dezi on their list of occupants."

Mark pressed his lips together, frowning in real concern. "I don't like the way this is sounding, Steve. It's not like Jesse to ignore calls or disappear."

"I know."

Amanda crossed her arms and stared at her tea, appearing suddenly uninterested in her drink. Just then, Henry sidled up to their table and placed a steaming hot cup of black coffee in front of the lieutenant.

"Here you go, sir," the older man said merrily. "One black coffee, no cream, two sugars."

"Thanks Henry."

"Sorry about the wait on that. I had to open up a brand new bag of coffee beans, but at least it'll taste fresher. Can I get you anything else?"

Steve smiled politely and shook his head. "No, thank you." He picked up the coffee mug and sipped at the piping hot liquid, and just as he was going to remove it from his lips and set it back down, his cell phone buzzed inside of his pocket. He fumbled in surprise, spilling the hot coffee down the front of his shirt in the process.

"Damn it!" he cursed and scrambled to reach for his phone on the inside of his jacket. Steve snatched the small device crossly and stared at the thing hoping to see his friend's name, but sagged over in disappointment when it read 'Newman.'

"Who is it?" Amanda asked, eyes large and hopeful.

"Captain Newman," Steve grumbled, then pressed the 'accept' button and pressed it to his ear. "Sloan, here."

"Sloan, are you anywhere near a TV right now?" his superior barked, sounding as if he were shouting from the inside of a concert hall.

"As a matter of fact, yes. Why do you ask?"

"Do me a favor, and turn it to CNN."

Steve turned towards the loft where the television was, noticing that a few of the café patrons were lounging in front of the screen lazily. "What's going on?"

"Just do it, Sloan!"

Steve stood quickly and took to the loft stairs two steps at a time. Mark and Amanda followed behind, but at a more reasonable pace. "Is this on CNN?" he asked the customers, and felt frustration rise up and settle at the base of his skull when they merely stared back dumbly. "Where's the remote?" Someone pointed at a side table and Steve grabbed it, and then changed the channel to the news station.

His grip on the phone loosened and the tiny device slipped from his hand when he saw the image before him.

Light footsteps approached from behind, and Mark touched his elbow. "Steve, what—"

"Oh, my God!" Amanda whimpered, stifling a sob with her fingers.

Smiling at them from the TV was Jesse's face, a picture probably taken from the CGH website, as it featured him in a doctor's coat, stethoscope, and the nurses' lounge as the backdrop. The photo drifted across the screen silently and the headline underneath read 'LA Doctor Held Hostage in Tijuana.' His youthful, grinning face dissolved to reveal another picture, one that showed a distinctively familiar body lying in a restrained heap, his head turned away from the photographer and barely visible under the streaks of blood and sharply contrasted bruises.

Steve felt dumbstruck, but had enough sense in him to numbly press the volume button until a woman's voice could be heard.

"…stayed at the Tijuana hotel where he and a female companion were abducted at gun point in plain sight, according to eyewitness testimony. Again, if you are just now tuning in, these photos and a ransom video have hit the internet video sharing website YouTube—posted this afternoon—by the notorious Los Zetas gang, who are prominent in the Baja peninsula and well-known for their violence and depravity. They have claimed responsibility for the video, stating that they are demanding a large sum of money in exchange for Los Angeles Dr. Jesse Travis' safety—"

**~*~**

Jesse had been drifting in and out of consciousness for what seemed like days, when in reality had been at most a few hours, when he was rudely awakened by a splash of water. He felt as though he was swimming between reality and a dream, with no real grip on his mind except the small noises around him. Vacant laughter, a large dog barking incessantly, the staccato cracks in some nearby location that sounded more like popcorn popping. His body felt like a novocained tongue, heavy, cold, and weak.

Jesse gasped at the sudden drenching and moved to wipe his face, but his hands were bound together behind his back by what felt like handcuffs. "Wha—?" He blinked repeatedly to rid the water from his eyes and eliminate the dizziness that had caused a queasy feeling to emerge. He focused on a looming figure in front of him—a young man with obsidian cut eyes and tattoos sprinkled all over his skin.

The youth spoke in broken English, and for a moment Jesse felt an overwhelming sensation of déjà vu, as if he had seen this exact scene somewhere before. He could not remember where he was or why he was there, but the confusion was brief, as the ache pounding inside his skull ensured that he not forget. Of course, the smash to his head, the lengthy ride in the van, Dezi's panicky screams…

The thought struck the young doctor like a kick to the stomach. She had been terrified and wailing just before he had been knocked unconscious. "Where's Dezi?"

"_Que—_what?"

"The girl," Jesse said softly over the throbbing of a headache.

"She busy," the kid said simply. Then he motioned at a small digital camera in his hand. "When I turn this on," he said, eyes piercing, "you speak."

The doctor's gaze flitted to the gang member finding it hard to focus or concentrate.

_Definitely concussed, _Jesse thought despairingly. "What, um," he mumbled, finding that his mouth felt dry and feeble, making his speech slurred. "What do you want me to say?"

"_Aquì,_" the younger man said, thrusting a paper at him and letting it fall into Jesse's lap.

The doctor peered downward, attempting to read the small words, but they blurred together as a wave of vertigo assailed him. The kid was unfazed, and he stood to his fullest height when a troupe of gang members, all similar in appearance with their attire, haircuts, even their piercings and ink, emerged from the doorway, armed with large weaponry. The camera was powered on, and Jesse was ordered by the kid to speak from the script, indicating at his lap. The lot of the young men positioned themselves behind the doctor and pulled bandanas up to cover their noses and mouths.

"_Comenzar,_" the cameraman spat, and Jesse pried his eyes away from the line of gunmen to stare into the tiny lens of the digital recorder. "_¿Eres estúpido? _Talk!"

Jesse felt a familiar cold metal press into his right temple, and he trembled at the realization that he was perilously close to really pissing these young men off, who looked as though they ate nails for breakfast, kicked puppies for fun, and definitely would have no problem pulling the trigger aimed at his head and leaving his body to rot somewhere in the Mexican desert.

"_Usted va a morir. ¡Hablar!"_

Jesse forced his eyes to center in on the scribbles, all written in practically unintelligible English, the fear showing through in the shaky delivery. "My name is Jesse Travis. I'm a doctor from Los Angeles, California…"

**~*~**

A/N: Just so you know, my Spanish is only as good as the next person's. I know a little. But just that. If there's a reader who is fluent who could offer me some advice or translate, that would be SO awesome.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I know, I know. I've slacked off big time on this fic. But I picked it up one day and felt inspired. I've been in school for what seems an eternity. Fortunately for me, I graduate very soon. :)

* * *

Hospital staff was lined up in front of the television hanging in the corner of the emergency room like a row of owls, each wearing expressions of shock and dismay. Jesse was a popular doctor, well-known for his good looks and friendly demeanor, as well as his complete dedication to treating patients and helping others obtain some form of justice alongside Amanda and the Sloans.

Amanda stood with Mark behind the nurses' station, eyes downcast at the paperwork before her, but she could not retain or see any of the words. She shook her head, feeling as though she wanted to crawl out of her skin and find a way to escape the hideous reality that had become her life. "This news coverage is horrible, Mark."

Mark was studying the screen with a hawkish intensity, allowing his eyes to scan the pictures and the programmed closed captioning dialogue. "It's sick, really. Have you seen the outside of the hospital? Reporters are creeping out from every crack in the earth's surface."

She refused to look up, almost as if the very sight of the press's morbid fascination with Jesse's abduction made her physically ill. "Just a week ago, none of these people gave a damn about him, and now all of a sudden he's been plastered all over the news because of those Los Zetas …_thugs._"

Mark nodded silently as she pressed her hands into her face.

"What are we going to do if we can't get Jesse back safe?" she grieved.

"Don't think like that, Amanda. We can't stand to lose hope, because it is all we have right now."

She huffed a frustrated sigh and tossed the stack away from her grasp. "I can't think straight."

He grimaced, worry creasing his features. "I know, honey. But Steve's talking with Captain Newman about getting into contact with this gang and negotiating their demands."

She turned, her large doe eyes widened in shock. "The United States government is actually considering answering their ransom demands?"

"Oh, I doubt that, but they'll want to find any way to communicate so we can start somewhere."

Their conversation was interjected by someone bursting through the entrance noisily—Steve storming through like an angry bull ready to bowl over anyone who happened to be in his way. "Dad!"

"Steve, what's going on?" Mark asked, feeling his insides pull with nervous anticipation. Amanda's hand gripped her colleague's shoulder anxiously.

"Interpol in Tijuana has made contact with the person registered under the YouTube account that posted the ransom video."

"What?" the two doctors both said, wearing matching faces etched in surprise.

Steve continued. "The account was created with an email address found to be phony, but the Interpol agents managed to get this person to call them. He was using a Tracfone which essentially leads us to a dead end, but the agents were able to triangulate their approximate location."

"So they know where Jesse is?" Amanda said, relieved.

"Not exactly." Steve rubbed the back of his neck briefly. "They'll only be able to isolate the possible area of this person using the phone. There's no way for us to know if he is anywhere near Jesse."

"But he will lead us in the right direction if we're able to find him," Mark said, finding that the tiny seedling of hope that had begun to wither away begin to blossom once again.

"Exactly."

"Well, what did this person have to say when Interpol communicated with him?"

"Los Zetas want $100 million for Jesse's safe return."

Mark and Amanda glanced at each other, then back to Steve. "They can't be serious."

"Unfortunately they are being very serious, Dad. Apparently, they were under the impression that Jesse is living on a mountain of money."

"So what now?" Amanda whispered, worrying her bottom lip.

Steve pressed his fingertips into the desk and loomed over the forgotten paperwork. "I'll be flying to Tijuana to meet up with Interpol and Mexican authorities."

Mark responded quickly, "I'm going with."

His son's face melted into a familiar look of exasperation. "Dad, it's too dangerous."

"Son, I've put myself into some deadly situations and I have always managed to find my way back out. I think I'll be okay."

* * *

Jesse had been sleeping for at least five or six hours, he'd wager, by the looks of the darkness outside. His eyelids parted to reveal a darkened, briefly unfamiliar room, until his head began to throb and he realized he hadn't had anything to eat or drink in twelve hours. What was perhaps more frustrating than the unquenchable thirst was that he could not remember falling to sleep. His last conscious memory was staring at the small basement window that allowed a brick-sized view of the scorching Mexican sky through, then behind his shoulder at the thick wooden door. Then nothing, that is until he awoke to this scene before him.

Jesse tested his hands and noticed with relief that he'd been freed from the handcuffs, and that he was finally able to stand and get a better view of the room—maybe find a way to escape somehow. Before he moved to his feet, he decided it would be a wise idea to take stock of his injuries, so he touched his pounding head. His fingers slowly and tenderly cradled the wounds, then pressed the swollen contusions to measure the severity of them as he made his own assessment despite being unable to see the damage.

Two blows to the head. It was a miracle he'd awoken at all. The bump on the back of his skull felt like it had reduced in size and had stopped bleeding. The strands of his hair around the wound were matted with dried blood.

Jesse brought his hand to the area approximately three inches above his right ear, and he could tell right away that the injury was the more troublesome one. The blow was to the parietal lobe, and this explained the periods of confusion he'd underwent when returning to consciousness. He touched the inside of his ear and was dismayed with the feel of sticky congealed blood pooled on the inside. Perfect indicator of a concussion.

He held up his hand and stared at it, moving his fingers one-by-one to test the strength in the motions. Patients with right-sided parietal lobe injuries often had trouble with movement of the left side, and would have distorted perception and reduction or even loss of emotional stimuli. He noticed that the room danced when he moved his head and with eye movement, but it appeared that he'd lucked out when considering how bad the head injury _could _have been.

Jesse rolled to his left as gently as possible and pushed himself up into a sitting position, and quickly discovered that his equilibrium did not agree with the sudden movement after lying flat on his back for several hours. The world before him spun crazily and agitated his already empty, ravaged stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut and willed the sensation to pass, and after a few minutes was not disappointed.

Finally, he opened his eyes and surveyed the room from an upright view and noticed that the room was dark and the air heavy with the smell of recent drug use. The moonlight trickling in from the window only allowed enough illumination to keep him from running into things and the size of the thing probably wouldn't allow his head to pass through. The room itself was meagerly furnished, with a bucket in a corner, a chair, and few non-descript, empty candy packages strewn on the dirt floor.

_Great, _he thought with a biting sarcasm. _So kind of them to leave us some wrappers to chew on while they keep us down here._

He was struck by his thoughts, remembering suddenly that he was alone, and the weariness for his misfortune turned into cold dread. Dezi was _still gone. _He could remember fragments of her screaming, but he'd been struck in the side of the head at the time, so the past several hours were spotty on details. Just the idea of her being in the hands of the gang members for such a long time sent his thoughts into a frenzy of worry.

Jesse stumbled to his feet, stood to his fullest height, and turned toward the door. He teetered dangerously to the right when his vision swam, but he pushed a hand out and steadied himself against the nearby wall.

He shuffled clumsily toward the door, feeling his knee twinge and his back protest. He jiggled the knob, but realized quickly that it locked from the outside. "Of course," he said out loud in a gravelly voice. He swallowed down a creeping sense of nausea, then moved toward the window, hoping that despite its size, he could do _something_.

Jesse positioned the rickety folding chair next to the wall and pulled himself to the open space. The opening was not protected by a plane of glass, but he was right in his assumption—he'd never fit himself through the tiny space. He reached out and touched the ground outside, feeling around for a moment, when a clattering outside the door to the basement startled him.

He nearly toppled off of the chair, but managed to climb down safely. He placed it in the middle of the room and sat in it, just as the door swung open and five or six young men sauntered in, appearing smug and predatory—guns held tightly in their grasps.

* * *

Amanda was adamant about jet-setting across the border into Baja California with Mark and Steve, but the doctor had gently taken her arm and had given her a soft look with his soulful, ice-blue eyes. She knew before he said a word that he would disagree with her reasoning, but in her mind all she could see was the battered form of one of her closest friends graced on the national news.

Jesse Travis, the newest, most searched for media sensation on the internet. Overnight the younger man with the charming, boyish grin and adorable blond locks had gone from an everyday emergency room doctor to the favorite subject of ravenous news reports. And they were in Los Angeles, the location of at least one of the most gluttonous hubs for this kind of news in the entire country.

The last time she'd seen him was when he'd been shamelessly flirting with the ladies at the admit desk. He was oblivious to Amanda's presence until she had reached through his line of sight for a large manila folder and he had been forced to acknowledge her. She remembered simply laughing at how boisterous and animated his reaction had been to her interruption.

Amanda shook her head, allowing tears to spring loose and trail down her cheeks. "Mark," she said in a voice trapped inside a tightened throat. "It's Jesse. I _have _to be there."

Mark's expression softened and he wrapped her in a comforting hug. "Amanda, what would your boys do if something happened that was out of your control? Look at what happened to Jesse! We can't say that it'll never happen to either one of us."

"I know, but he needs as much support from us as we can give. I mean, I'll feel like a sitting duck waiting in LA for news. How will I be any good to CJ and Dion if I can hardly concentrate? They're better off staying at my mom's then seeing me worry and looking like a train wreck. No, I want to go, Mark."

Mark pulled away and studied the woman for a few seconds, then nodded in a way that conveyed the absolute seriousness of the situation. She'd been in countless perilous circumstances that put her life at risk, and she'd managed to emerge from most of them without a scratch. "Okay. If this is what you need to do, Amanda, then I won't stop you, but I still think that it is best for you to stay here."

Five hours later, Amanda, Mark, and Steve had round-trip tickets in hand for a two-week stay in Tijuana. Interpol officials, Mexican authorities, and agents from the Department of Defense would be meeting with the three as soon as the plane touched down and released its passengers to their respective gates, where they would discuss how to find the location of the Los Zetas hideout, and there they would hopefully find the young doctor alive.

* * *

So...let me know how you like it. Thanks for reading!


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